


I Am Disappeared

by MorpheusX



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, TSoT Spoilers, and a good time was had by none, everything is sad, im sad, inspired by a tumblr post, john's wedding is sad, spoilers for basically every season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 04:00:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1373173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorpheusX/pseuds/MorpheusX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was so easy to fall into the swing of the music and his joy that John simply didn't notice at first. That was probably the worst thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Am Disappeared

**Author's Note:**

  * For [michi_thekiller](https://archiveofourown.org/users/michi_thekiller/gifts).



> inspired by [this post](http://traumachu.tumblr.com/post/80814699759/okay-so-i-know-we-all-sad-and-stuff-about-sherlock) on tumblr by [michi_thekiller](http://archiveofourown.org/users/michi_thekiller).
> 
> please forgive this story and my overuse of italics.
> 
> the title is from frank turner's song by the same name.

It was so easy to fall into the swing of the music and his joy that John simply didn't notice at first. That was probably the worst thing.

As the songs moved through slow-standard-love-songs to quick-feet-dancing, the ex-captain stepped back, content to watch his friends move about the dance floor. More than anything, he watched Mary Morstan - Mary _Watson_ \- move about in her lovely dress, laughing and beaming as she was passed around from person to person. _Everyone wants to dance with the bride at a wedding; it's only natural,_ a baritone voice echoed in his head. That had been a case that they had taken shortly before the Woman had appeared in their lives, back when everything was simpler and they were just doctor-and-detective without any ifs, ands, or buts about it (nor any butts either, much to the despair of the Yard's betting pool).

_They had been working to discover a diamond thief and had finally tracked their suspect into a wedding. Sherlock had gotten them both invitations - God only knew how he did it; perhaps Mycroft had had a hand - and they had strode onto the dance floor dressed in a tuxedo apiece (John had kept his reverently preserved until the Fall, when he couldn't stand to look at it and miss that happiness)._

_"How'll we tell who the burglar is?" John asked, though he definitely didn't doubt his friend's skill. No, he rather enjoyed hearing Sherlock show off, even when he insisted on being cryptic and confusing, as he had then._

_"Everyone wants to dance with the bride at a wedding," the Holmes had replied. "It's only natural." Then he had slipped away, leaving the doctor to make polite small talk until a brawl had broken out. John had tackled someone pretty impressively and the only casualty was Sherlock's pale grey tie, which he had probably been all too relieved to get rid of. Only when revealing his deductions to the local police did he point out the bride's wonderful set of diamond bangles, which would have been relatively easy to slide from her wrists if the thief were careful (and in this case, he most certainly was). Correct as ever, the entire escapade had taken maybe forty-five minutes._

Grinning at the memory, John turned on the spot, trying to catch a glimpse of wild black hair. Sherlock had said that he loved to dance; surely he'd be out on the floor, probably with Janine (small, ignored spike of jealousy). When the detective didn't show up, however, his smile faded and he backed away from the floor, hoping to get a better view. While moving away with his neck still craned upwards, he jostled someone's arm and turned instantly to apologize profusely.

It was Molly, who had turned towards him with her mouth half-open, probably intending to do the same. "S-sorry!" she stuttered. "I didn't see you there!"

He gave her his gentle, I'm-a-doctor-who-works-with-children smile. "No, Molly, it was my fault," John apologized. He hadn't been able to blame her for her fault in Sherlock's fake suicide, knowing that she had been utterly besotted with him and would probably have jumped herself if he had asked. Actually, that reminded him. "Did you happen to see Sherlock anywhere?"

If possible, she blushed even harder. "I think I saw him going out the door a moment ago. He had his coat - maybe he had an experiment or something to check up on?"

He blinked at her and gave her a nod, which was evidently enough for the embarrassed girl to grin back and fade into the crowd once more. Sherlock had left? Why?

 _Maybe it is an experiment,_ he thought. It wouldn't exactly be the first time that the detective had left him behind. _In fact, he's been leaving me behind since the start._ With a sinking feeling in his chest, John barely noticed his left hand clenching into a fist and doing absolutely nothing to hide its tremor. _Our first case - running off in the museum - meeting at the pool._ An iron band tightened around his ribs. _Talking with Irene - Dartmoor and the drugs - his suicide._ Even on these last couple of cases, between the elephant and the bomb in the train car, the matchbox and the Invisible Man, he had always been behind.

 _It's not as if that's anything new, Watson,_ he scolded himself. _He's always going to be light-years ahead of you._ That didn't stop the fact that he couldn't hear the music anymore over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. He had known that he'd always be Sherlock's sidekick, but to have it thrust in his face time and again was awful, especially after Moriarty. When the detective had faked his death, the doctor had been crushed. To find out that it was all an elaborate joke - and to be told that the only reason that he hadn't been in on the farce because he hadn't been trusted not to crack under the pressure - had almost destroyed him as much as the original jump had. _Maybe this is a hint. Maybe he doesn't need me anymore._ It wasn't as though Sherlock didn't take every opportunity to point out that he didn't need help. ( _I've just got one_ ). (He shuts that thought down ruthlessly).

After the detective had returned from his unnecessary exile, he had been tenser around John. _Maybe he realized that he doesn't need me,_ the captain decided with a flash of hurt. _Maybe he_ doesn't _need me._

"…ohn? John, love? Is everything okay?"

Returning to himself, he turned to see Mary half-reaching out for him, her blue eyes concerned and hesitant. With effort, he dragged the corners of his lips upwards, but his own cerulean gaze was still far off and unfathomably sad. "Hey, Mary," he said, unable to form anything more complicated than that.

She looked him over once, obviously worried, before taking his hand. "Come and dance for a song?" she offered, and his heart swelled with love. This was why he had married her - this effortless acceptance without probing. The last thing that John Watson, the epitome of the stiff British upper lip, needed was to spill his heart to anyone. ( _You told me once that you weren't a hero_ ).

He took her hand. She smiled with relief and pulled him onto the floor.

_Sherlock gently locked the door to 221b behind him and picked up his violin._


End file.
